


Primrose: I Can't Live Without You

by writeitininkorinblood



Series: Flower Language [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Flower Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:32:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6058276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeitininkorinblood/pseuds/writeitininkorinblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jack wanted to flirt with a florist.” Race shrugged, trying to be nonchalant despite the way his heart was thudding in his chest.<br/>“Ah, right,” Spot nodded, drawling sarcastically. “Because that explains everything so clearly.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primrose: I Can't Live Without You

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of requests for this both on tumblr and AO3 after my Javid florist fic, so here you go!

“Here.”

Race held out the flowers without ceremony or elegance, avoiding catching Spot’s eye. He’d turned the idea of just throwing them away over and over in his mind, but eventually he’d taken them with him to Brooklyn, glaring at them the entire way, and thrust them into Spot’s hand the moment he opened the door.

“Umm…?” Spot face was contorted with confusion, his eyes flicking from the flowers to Race and back. He automatically stepped aside to let Race into the apartment, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the flowers. They were purple with little yellow centres, and Spot knew he’d seen the species before but couldn’t name it. And quite why Race had given them to him was something he couldn’t understand.

“Jack wanted to flirt with a florist.” Race shrugged, trying to be nonchalant despite the way his heart was thudding in his chest. He flopped onto the sofa, grabbing a cushion so he had something to fist his hands into to try and focus the tension in his body into one place so it didn’t overwhelm him. He was terrified Spot was going to throw the flowers back in his face and demand he leave and never return.

“Ah, right,” Spot nodded, drawling sarcastically. “Because that explains everything so clearly.”

Race flipped him off, but felt himself relax a little. He’d take confusion over hatred from Spot any day.

“He needed to know if the guy was gay, so he made me go and buy flowers for you. And now he owes me a tenner.” He explained, hoping they could put the topic to rest and focus on more important matters. Namely how quickly they could find their way to the bedroom and get each other’s clothes off. They had a pretty good record time as it was, but it was always worth trying to beat it.

“Wow, I’m worth a whole ten pounds?” Spot asked, his voice an acidic mix of cynicism and mock elation.

“Shut up,” Race groaned. Spot was worth a whole lot more than ten pounds, he was worth everything to him, only Race _wasn’t allowed to say that_.

Spot’s demeanour changed in an instant, going from sarcastic to serious so quickly it was almost scary.

“Race…” he began tentatively. “You know we don’t… We’re not meant to…”

He couldn’t make himself say the words, but Race caught on quickly.

“No flowers, no romance, no relationship. I know.” He tried not to sigh disappointedly, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. “But like I said, Jack made me buy them and I didn’t know what else to do with them, so I figured you may as well have them.”

Spot watched him for a second, appraising the truth behind the words. Trying not to visibly hold his breath, Race waited for what seemed like the slowest five seconds of his entire life. Eventually Spot turned away, heading to the kitchen to find a glass to put the flowers in. He wasn’t really sure what to do with them; no one had ever given him flowers before. But he was almost certain they needed water so they didn’t die, and he really didn’t want them to. Were Spot Conlon the kind of person to find things pretty, he’d definitely have ascribed the adjective to the flowers. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of flowers they were. Asking Race seemed like showing too much interest, so he attempted to google the flowers based on appearance alone. It took a few attempts, but eventually he found what he was looking for on what appeared to be the website of a random Canadian florists. Primroses. He committed it to memory, wanting to know the first flowers Race (or anyone) had ever given him, and was about to close the page when the line of next under the photo caught his eye. Flowers had meanings, and the meaning of this particular flower almost stopped his heart.

 

“Race…” Spot started nervously, shuffling uncharacteristically back into the lounge.

“Yeah?” Race yawned, trying not to look like he’d only just succeeded in getting his breathing back to a respectable (and non-life-threatening) level.

Spot almost didn’t want to ask. He was afraid that Race knew exactly what they meant and had intended to convey the message, but he was also afraid that it was just a coincidence and, to Race, they were just pretty flowers. But he had to know.

“Do you know what those flowers mean?” he asked, working hard to push all the nerves out of his voice.

Race looked up, trying not to look scared. Did Spot think the flowers were meant to be romantic?

“What they mean?” He laughed, trying to play dumb. “They don’t mean anything. They’re just flowers.” Spot didn’t have to know that, although the flowers weren’t meant to mean anything in particular, Race had broken the cardinal rule of their agreement: he’d fallen in love.

“No, there’s a whole flower language thing. They all have meanings,” Spot explained, studying Race’s face to see if he showed any hint of prior understanding, but he seemed to be surprised by the knowledge.

“Oh?” Race couldn’t tell why Spot was taking so long to get to the point of the conversation, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it, whatever it was.

“Yeah. And…”

Spot took a deep breath and showed Race the page open on his phone. The words ‘PRIMROSE: I can’t live without you’ were right in the centre of the screen, right next to a picture that looked exactly like the flowers that were now in the kitchen.

Race’s blood went cold and he couldn’t keep the fear out of his eyes.

“Oh. Shit. Spot, I don’t mean- I mean I do, but I-” He cut himself off, clapping a hand over his mouth. In truth he felt exactly like the flowers said he did, but he hadn’t meant to _say_ that.

“You do?” Spot asked, his expression guarded. He wasn’t about to give away how he felt without a concrete understanding of how Race felt.

“No, I…” Race was frantic, trying to repair the damage of his slip up. He searched for an explanation that would fix everything but, in finding nothing, he dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap. “I fucked up.”

“Race, this isn’t meant to be a romantic thing. We agreed.” Spot kept his voice gentle but stern, like talking to a child.

What they had worked, and Spot wasn’t sure he could cope with much else. The idea of dating and calling each others boyfriends was too daunting. There was a lot things Spot Conlon could do, but dealing with his feelings for Racetrack Higgins was not one of those things.

“Yeah. I know.” Race nodded, trying not look as miserable as he felt. He was pretty sure he’d ruined everything.

“But…” Spot started, unsure how to continue.

Race looked up, hope bubbling in his stomach.

“But?” he asked, tentatively.

“You tell me.” Spot shrugged. “You’re here so often you practically live here, you brought me flowers. I think we abandoned ‘not a romantic thing’ a while ago…” He trailed off, unwilling to extrapolate the point.

“We did?” Race tried to play stupid one last time. He’d fallen in love with Spot after the first time he’d smiled at him lazily across the pillow, drowsy and sated. He hadn’t been able to help grinning back.

“Didn’t we?” Spot smiled with one side of his mouth. He was sure Race felt the same as him, he could see it in his eyes. They both knew their ‘no affection’ agreement had lasted a week at most, and that they’d been in love ever since.

“I guess. I mean, the flowers, I… I can’t.” Race mumbled, unsure of the uncertain territory they’d found themselves in.

“Can’t what?” Spot sat on the sofa, putting a hand on Race’s thigh.

“Can’t live without you, Spot.” Race said, unable to raise his voice to higher than a whisper.

He half expected Spot would order him to leave, and say that whatever they had was over, but instead Spot shuffled closer and muttered ‘oh.’ He rested a hand on Race’s cheek, pulling his face closer and kissing him softly. Race sighed into the kiss, unused to Spot being so gentle. They didn’t say anything else; neither of them admitted they were in love, but there was enough emotion in the kiss to explain everything and more without the need for words. Race knew everything wasn’t over. It was only just beginning.


End file.
